Something More (Tony x Reader)
by oblivion-is-grace
Summary: Imagine confessing to Tony Stark that you love him.


You sat on the couch next to that pompous asshole as he flipped through the channels on the TV. That smug, self-assured, son of a dick-because you would never disrespect his mother-was the man you cared about more than anyone else in the world. He was the one who taught you everything you know, the man who helped mold you into the person you were today. You were the only one who saw every piece of him, too. Even when he was with Pepper, she didn't see everything. If they had an argument, who did he come crying to? You. If he had a panic attack, who was the first one he would call? You. If he needed a plus one to one of his charity events or parties, who did he invite? You. If he needed a second opinion on one of his Iron Man suits, who was the first person he asked? You. You were there for everything. You saw the good, the bad, and the ugly. You saw the confidence _and _the insecurity within him. You saw the rougher side of his personality that he wore in front of friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers, but you also saw the tenderness and compassion that he buried to make himself seem more masculine.

His father did that to him.

You also saw what that broken relationship with Pepper did to him. When the panic attacks became too much for her to handle, she would call you. When she was too busy to deal with his insecurities, she would call you. Maybe it was because you and Tony had known each other for so long that you just knew how to handle the tough stuff, or maybe it was because she just didn't care enough to try. Either way, Tony saw it as him being a burden on her. So, when she left him, he wasn't surprised. You were. How could she leave a man like that? How could she leave a man who had a heart that big? Maybe, you would never know the answer because the only men you ever left were the ones who treated you like dirt, the ones who didn't stick around for the good, the bad, and the ugly, the ones who hadn't be taught not to hit girls. You had your fair share of awful dating experiences, and just as you were there for Tony, he was there for you. He had a protective side, and it showed itself when he saw the tears in your eyes and the new bruise on your cheek that one night. It took everything you had to keep him from leaving to kill your freshly-dumped boyfriend. When you asked, he stayed. He held you as you cried and offered you a strong foundation to build your new life on, and you didn't know when or how or why, but you fell in love with him all the same. It had always been this small flame in the back of your heart, but it came alive when he became your guiding light.

"Is there anything on you wanna watch?" he asked, draping his arm over the back of the couch as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. Coulson would've cut his feet off if he had been there to see it, but he was still trying to fly under the radar with his team of misfits. You couldn't deny that it was for the best, but you had your fleeting thoughts about him every day. He had been your mentor since day one, and you considered him a friend. Only a handful of people knew he was alive, and Tony wasn't one of them.

You tucked your legs up under your body and nestled into the warmth of the couch. You would've much rather nestled up to him, but it had been a difficult day for him, meaning that it was more than likely he would show reluctance toward cuddling, "we could always watch Gordon Ramsay yelling at people"

He shrugged off the suggestion, "I prefer him with the kids. Fury does enough yelling around here for both him _and_ Wrinkly Forehead" he remarked, making you laugh at the new nickname he had for the chef. He had nicknames for everyone, whether he knew them or not, and he usually cracked them out when he wanted to make you laugh. Mission accomplished. As he scrolled through the channels, a loud crack came from outside the building, causing his whole body to seize up in fear. When you looked out the window, you could see the brilliant colors lighting up the sky, and you knew that it was just beginning. As you sat motionless on the couch, you wondered how you could've possibly forgotten the most patriotic day of the year. The fourth of July was always a holiday that Tony took note of because it was the Captain's birthday, too, and Tony went all out for birthdays. With Steve in D.C., we hadn't given it much thought, especially not the fireworks. When you looked over at Tony to see how he was handling it, you saw that he had completely zoned out of the world and was completely lost in his own mind. You could almost see the memories flashing before his widened eyes as he experienced the wormhole over and over and over again. He had seen so much happen that he never signed up for, and all of it came crashing down around him after New York. As he relived them, you did, too. From him finding you bruised and beaten after you had been kidnapped to seeing Coulson's body in the holding area where they had kept Loki. He had seen far too much. You knew that his condition was bound to get worse but that the only way to help would be to intercept this panic attack before it got too far.

You reached out for his hand, but the moment you touched it, he jerked it away almost like you had been holding a match against his hand, slowly burning his skin. You knew better than to touch him without telling him first in situations like this, but it was your first instinct. You offered him a smile, trying to stay as calm as possible even though you were anxious for what was about to come. The events only cemented the fact that you would be spending the night in his room again, and he would end up attaching himself to you throughout the night, so in the morning, it was impossible to get out of bed without waking him. You held your hand up again as you spoke, "I'm just gonna take your hand, Tony, okay?" you asked, wanting to receive his consent before you did anything. He nodded his head as his eyes flickered around the room, never focusing solely on you. You reached down and stroked his fingers before intertwining your fingers with his. His palms were already clammy, which meant that the night had already just begun. Long hours stretched out ahead of you, but you were prepared for all it would bring because you loved him. You stared up at the ceiling, ready to address one of your greatest friends, "Jarvis, soundproof the tower, please"

"As you wish, Miss (Y/N)" he responded as the cracking and popping of fireworks outside faded away with all the rest of the chaos of the city. You had tried talking him into taking up residence somewhere quieter, but he had convinced himself that if New York was attacked again, he wanted to be right here, not miles away. Still, for his own sanity, you knew that he needed to step back and take some time to process everything that has happened from the time he was labelled as a superhero until now. If he didn't talk about the heavy things and work through them, these problems would only get worse, and you didn't want to see him hurt anymore than he already was. Maybe taking a break from the constant chaos of the city would give him time to clear his head and find himself again.

Before it got any worse, you stood up from the couch, still holding onto his hand. He stared up at you with those terrified brown eyes, and you told yourself for the hundredth time that you would take away all his fear and pain if you could. There was no way of getting into his head to stop these things from happening, so the only thing you could do was be with him as he experienced those horrors on his own, "come lay down with me in the bedroom" you suggested, trying to coax him up by urging his hand further toward you. The hard part wasn't getting him to stand up, but it was making your way to the bedroom with him. His hands trembled, and he kept stopping to catch his breath. You knew what it felt like, but you also knew that getting him comfortable would be the first step in calming him down. It didn't take long to get him into the bedroom, but it was quite the task to get him to lay in the bed because he kept trying to convince you that he needed to go to the emergency room. Once you were finally in bed together, you noticed that the attack had started to wear off, but the after effects were just as exhausting. The two of you faced each other for hours as you reminded him to breathe, that he _wasn't_ having a heart attack, and that you were going to be there through the entire thing. He was always afraid of being left alone in moments like these, but you laid in that bed facing him for half the night, your faces so close you could feel his warm breath cascading across your lips with every breath he took.

After such a long time just staring at each other, he finally broke his own silence, "I'm sorry" he apologized, casting his eyes away from you and sitting up in the bed, turning just enough to hang his legs off the side. He never turned away from you unless he was about to start crying, and you had only seen that happen a handful of times. You'd seen him naked-accidentally-more times than you had seen him cry. "Sorry" was the last thing you wanted to hear, though. He had done it so many times before, but you never anticipated it. You never made him feel like he was a burden, and when he apologized for _you_ taking care of _him_, it made you feel guilty about something you shouldn't have to feel guilty about.

You scrambled out of the bed and over to his side, not wanting him to pull away. Before he had the chance to stand up and walk away from you, you nestled your knees on either side of him and seated yourself on his lap. For any other duo, it would've been crossing a line, but there were no lines with Tony. Besides, you had crossed so many other lines, one more wouldn't kill you. At least, you hoped it didn't. When he continued to try to look away, you collected his face in your hands and stroked his cheeks with the tips of your fingers, feeling his body rumble beneath yours. You turned his head toward you just enough so that he had nowhere else to look but into your eyes, "please, don't push me away. Talk to me. Let me in" you begged

His eyes held so much indifference in that moment, but you knew that it was his way of building up the wall. He shrugged, "what do you want me to say, (Y/N)? Do you want me to tell you that I'm scared of fireworks like some little boy? That I feel like I'm trapped in my own mind when shit like that happens? Do you want all the details about how I _feel_ when I'm going through that? _Or_ do you want me to talk about everything that I think about-everything I _see_? Do you want to hear about all the stuff that eats away at my mind and tears me apart every time I think about it? Do you want to know how every time I hear a firework, it brings me right back to…" he couldn't even finish the question before his eyes started watering, but you knew what he was going to ask as well as your answer to it.

As your eyes locked with his sad brown ones that glistened with tears, you shook your head, "I _want_ to know about what happens during these attacks. I want to know what you're seeing and why you're seeing it, but I understand that you telling me all those intimate details is just as scary as me telling you all the intimate details about mine. That's why I don't ask. However, you should know that I'm always free to listen" you explained, raking a hand through his soft brown hair to push it from his face. You continued, "all I want is for you to stop apologizing for breaking down like this in front of me. This kind of thing doesn't make you weak, Tony, and I know that's what you're afraid of. You're afraid that it's not what I want to see. Well, you know what? I'm not in love with Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. I'm in love with the man who cries with me when we watch "My Girl". I'm in love with the man who cooks me breakfast in bed when he knows I've had a rough night, the one who keeps the cranberry juice stocked in the fridge even though he hates the stuff. I'm in love with the man who puts his hand in the middle of my back and rubs small circles into it when things get rough because he knows it's one of the only ways to calm me down. I'm in love with the man who dances with me in the living room to Elvis and sings the songs himself when the record skips. I don't love the facade you try to put on to please everyone else. I love _you_" you blurted out, not even thinking about the consequences your sudden outburst would have until after the fact.

When your entire speech finally processed in your mind, your eyes widened in pure terror. Before you could move, though, his hand snaked around the back of your neck and guided your face toward his. As soon as your lips met, your eyes fluttered closed at the same time your stomach flipped and erupted with thousands of butterflies. For years, you waited to kiss him. For years, you were too afraid to tell him just how much you loved him. For years, you had been too afraid of jeopardizing a friendship you had worked so hard to build, but here you were with your lips locked in a fiery kiss with his. It wasn't the type of kiss that would turn into anything more-no clothes were coming off tonight-but it was a tension-breaking kiss. Even after your lips disconnected, your eyes remained closed as you basked in the moment like it was a breath of fresh air. When you finally opened your eyes, they locked with his again. His lips pulled up into a smile as he pushed a few stray pieces of hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your entire body flush against his own, burying his face in your neck. Even as he peppered kisses against your skin, you could still feel the smile on his lips, "I love you, too"


End file.
